


Silvertongue

by awildlokiappears



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: TW: medical procedures, TW: non-consensual medical procedures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awildlokiappears/pseuds/awildlokiappears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki first woke, he thought the world he was left in was just a dream. He was right. From Asgard back to Midgard, the stolen prince finds the shell he'd hidden behind for ages cracked open, quite literally, and all the lies in the cosmos can't save him now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Loki never remembered how it happened, how any of it went about...he died, and he remembered only the chill, the chill he'd feared all his long, long life...

Which was, possibly, why he was so surprised to wake in warm sunshine. Green eyes had snapped open, only for the god to weakly draw an arm over them, groaning at the sudden pain shooting through his skull. Duly noted, do not wake up and look directly at the nearest light source after death; the impending migraine is not worth it. Gradually, he let his eyes grow accustomed to the brilliant, golden light, blinking rapidly as he drew his hand away and slowly, painfully sat up. He was in his leathers, his armor lost to whatever power was higher than Asgard...or lower, he had to consider that possibility too. This could be Midgard's metaphorical heaven...or, a pleasant mask over hell.

To be honest, he wasn't sure which one actually applied. He was resting on grass growing sere and brown, the trees surrounding him going vibrant with all the colors of autumn. A cool wind, an almost pleasant counterpoint to the heat of the sun, rustled through the grove, and he breathed it in, the scent a mix of the eventual death of fall, and green, growing life...It was lovely and heartbreaking, all in one breath, and for a long moment, Loki put aside his anger and his betrayal, and mourned his brother. Thor had loved this time of the year, and spring, too, showing a philosophical streak that for so long, only Loki had ever seen. And Loki had loved him all the more for it, for it was something they alone had shared, something so precious and true...He wondered sadly where it had all gone wrong. He wondered if perhaps Thor had meant those words on that lonely hilltop, those few years ago, that he had mourned, he had grieved...that he had missed his brother just as much as Loki missed him now.

He shook off the melancholy with difficulty, and struggled slowly to his feet, shivering just a little. The ground must have soaked up his body heat; he was not so nearly as comforted by the wind now, and the sun was weak, even if it did pour down like balm. And with his armor went his tools, his scrolls and potions secreted. He had no food, no water, and no shelter...and his head raised again, eyes narrowing. There, off to the...he took a moment to orient himself, and swallowed. Off to the northwest, a storm was brewing; the dark clouds were little more than a line on the horizon, but it was a growing line, and one that he dared not tarry before. Whatever else this place was, it was enough like a natural world to have its own weather systems, and he really did not find any interest in slogging through icy rain. God he may be, but he could contract pneumonia just the same as any mortal.

He turned then to the east; in spite of the sun's obvious trek towards the storm, the grove he was in looked to open into a valley, and if he skirted the rim, he might find shelter in a cave for the night. There, he might try to conjure a little fire, perhaps hunt a rabbit out of its burrow. His stomach rumbled in painful agreement, and he sighed. The food from the prison he'd been kept in felt so very long ago now, though he knew realistically it had been, perhaps, a few days...and he was dead anyway, wasn't he? What need had he of food? But at the same time, if he could find it, he certainly wouldn't turn his nose up. Worse illusions had existed, and if he were to be honest with himself, the taste of rabbit would, at least, make the place a little more like home. Home...He sighed, then squared his shoulders and set off, annoyed a little bit by his hair.

It might have been fashionably long, but he well remembered the many hunts, and the hassle of tying it up or back. Should he find a blade, the locks were going off. He shook one such lock out of his eyes and padded through the trees, thankful, at least, that Thor had insisted on walking boots, his eyes taking in the old growth. This place had never known destruction; he could feel it in his bones, in the very air. The grove was ancient and sprawling, the only areas where new saplings flourished being the grave sites of the enormous giants he wandered past. There were a few haphazard game trails, but otherwise, he was walking through a carpet of bright leaves, his passing softened by the thick loam underneath his feet. It was an exceedingly beautiful forest, and he wondered how long he'd been lying there; the birds didn't even note his passing, singing their sweet heads off in the canopy, while squirrels raced one another around and around the trees. He spied a herd of deer that sprinted away only when he paused, and heard the rumbling growl of a far off bear, likely searching out nuts and grubs before winter's fall.

Of course, they may have never seen a being such as himself before, too. He had encountered virgin forests such as this before, though they were smaller and far younger, and often hidden away in folds between the mountains. This one, though...as he slipped out from under a low-hanging pine, he was startled to see that it opened onto scrubland and vast plains, a true rarity. The valley he'd spied before was farther off to the south than he favored, and he paused for a moment to gather his bearings. The storm was hidden by the trees behind him, but judging by the growing moisture in the air, he estimated that he had roughly till sundown to find shelter; perhaps five, six more hours at best. So he heaved a sigh and headed to the plains, passing through the thorny scrubs carefully. As he went, he kept an eye out, hoping, perhaps, to find...ah ha! With a shade of his usual humor, he untangled a long, nearly straight limb from one such bush, nursing a cut thumb for his troubles as he tested the stoutness of the stave. It was firm and dry, with enough flex to be useful.

His new found weapon in hand, Loki continued on, making relatively good time through the scrubland when he took a moment to glance back, swallowing with a little bit of difficulty. His thirst was starting to rival his hunger, and he rejudged the storm's movements, calculating his odds at finding a shelter, finding food...he would have time to find a little food, and hopefully water, but his heart sank. He would be sleeping under a deluge tonight. The storm was rising far swifter than he'd realized and with the winds beginning to howl through the forest, he felt a shiver go up his spine. He'd never much liked storms, whether they were of his brother or of nature; all that chaos, all that power, unleashed within hours or moments, as uncontrollable as Loki himself. And to his mind, far more dangerous.

"Damn..." He whispered, emerald eyes growing fearful. His voice might have startled his own ears, but Loki glanced back at the plain, then at the forest...if he were wise, he would return to the forest's hold. That pine tree was more than large enough to block out the worst of the rain, and he could build a bed of pine boughs. Not the most comfortable, nor the warmest, but it was a far better prospect than a hollow full of icy water. He gave in and headed back the way he came, eyes darting between the storm and the forest. It was coming up a lot faster than he'd planned; it might have been heralded, because most of the sky was a roiling shade of deep gray, flashes of lightning darting between clouds as the dark sheet of rain hastened over the forest's top. He all but threw himself under the pine tree and set to work, his focus narrowed down to place bough here, prop it there. As the rain finally made its way to his tree, Loki sat back on bated breath, eyes on the simple weave of branches over his head.

One droplet, then three, then twenty...and with a roar, the wave of water hit, and he flinched...it held. It dripped, but by the gods, it certainly held. He could almost laugh at that, but he dared not. With a soft sigh of relief, he gathered up his nest of soft needles and leaves, cradled in more boughs, and just when he didn't think he could get comfortable...he slept.

* * *

\- beep - . . . - beep - . . . - beep -

His eyelids fluttered, cracking open so minutely it wasn't noticed, and a tiny part of Loki's mind, the part, the only part, that wasn't affected by whatever was being pumping through his veins from the innumerable bags hanging over his head, startled awake at the white coats surrounding him, face masks protecting them from whatever they might find...and those eyelids fluttered down, just a hair, to see what was drawing them like moths to a flame.

\- beep - . . - beep - . . - beep - . . - beep -

Horror, stomach roiling horror made him claw at the walls of his own mind, for his chest was opened up for their inspection, the gleaming white of his ribcage standing stark against the red meat that made up his muscles, his skin...they were probing him, examining the differences between his body and a normal human's...he saw the diagrams hovering above him, the notes they'd made that he just couldn't make out, and he wanted to scream, /was/ screaming, though his body refused to even twitch. But his heart...they couldn't quite keep that from speeding up.

\- beep - . - beep - . - beep - . - beep - . - beep -

"Sir, he may be waking up..." Horror followed those words, and a sharp voice called out names of potions he'd never heard of, the white coats with their shiny masks swarming around him as all the while, his heart picked up pace, beating dangerously within the opened cage of his chest.

\- beep - beep - beep - beep - beep - beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep -

"Knock his ass out." That voice very nearly made him faint; the Director, the dark shadow of SHIELD...and as consciousness was swept away, Loki's last thought wasn't of revenge or rage...or even his brother. His final slide into the darkness followed his scream for his mother.

* * *

He came awake with a gasp and a choked off scream, clawing at the heavy boughs above him and sputtering when a cascade of water poured down, waking him up completely and soaking his upper half to the bone. He panted, clinging to the rich, thick pine needles, hot tears blending with the cold rainwater left behind. Where in the nine realms had /that/ horrific nightmare come from?! It took far longer than he might have anticipated to calm down, minutes, hours, days...when he finally was able to shake himself loose of the terror and the sheer horror, he eased out of his pine needle nest and stood, slipping out from under the tree with stave up and ready, his eyes dark-rimmed and skin pale. It was just now dawn; the gray light was fading into roseate as he watched, a truly beautiful sunrise hovering just below the horizon.

The rain had stripped away most of the leaves and flattened the grasslands; thankfully, the mud was looked relatively easy to navigate, and Loki could see patches of thick grasses that would keep him out of it completely. But a long day of walking and the terror from the night before had redoubled his hunger; he drank what water he could collect off of the pine tree and bit back a groan, sighing. Food, and a lot of it, was dearly needed; perhaps he could hunt on the plain. He made his way back down through the shrubbery and set out over the grasses, his back straight and eyes on the rising sun. He was Loki, of Asgard, of Jotunheim...and he was more than just a prince. He was a god.


	2. Chapter 2

The doe went down surprisingly easily, since Loki hadn't had a bow, nor a spear, and he was grinning as he dragged the carcass down into the hollow he'd found, building a fire-pit and spit before he went hunting for a flint. Conjuring fire had seemed possible, but no...he had no magic in him. This was only his skills now, and for the first time in eons, he was grateful for the times they hunted, the times they went far abroad in Asgard and Midgard both. Luck was with him, though; he found two stones that if not quite perfect, certainly did the job, and within an hour, he had a cheerful little flame, the tantalizing scent of venison filling the air. There wasn't to be a storm tonight, so Loki set to work skinning the deer and preparing the hide as best he could; it wasn't much, but deerskin was warmer than nothing, and silk and leather didn't do much when the wind whipped around you.

Fall must have been shorter here than he imagined; already the warmth of the sun had dissolved into a brisk chill, one that made him huddle around his fire a little bit more, and as the sun set, he pulled the hide over his shoulders, curling his lip a little at the smell. No matter. It wasn't as though there was anyone to see him here. Nor smell him. And he'd encountered far worse on his adventures in his youth. Besides, the deer was more than ready to eat, and he burnt his lips and tongue on the crackling meat; despite that, the haunch disappeared with almost indecent haste, and he'd set the other half on to cook while he laid back, picking out his teeth with a sliver of bone. Refined he might have been, but he could quite easily put away as much food as his brother; more so, when he'd worked his magics.

And now he was relatively warm, comfortable, and pillowing his head on a rock, he laid back, eyes going up to the stars just now winking into existence. Ah, that was the trick...he knew star charts from all the nine realms, had studied them over his long years, and knew how to orient himself...but that wasn't right. His brow crinkled, and he sat up, lips pursing as he braced himself on one hand and traced one constellation blooming into light with a shaking finger. That was...Ursa Major. Of Midgard. But next to it...that was Fenrir, of Asgard, the great wolf...and at the opposite part of the cosmos, the enormous dragon of Muspelheim, that Surt bested...Stars he'd known all his life jumbled together in a moonless sky, and Loki felt his heart quiver. This was...this was all wrong. All wrong. Perhaps this was indeed Hell...Helheim, all of it. Perhaps this was what the humans called Purgatory; a place of suffering...he did not know. And he feared that most of all. He turned over, eyes wide and staring into the fire, and sought sleep with abandon, begging for its sweet embrace.

* * *

\- beep - . . . - beep - . . . - beep -

The soft sound of the machine woke him this time, and he loathed that sound, feared it, hated it...but it was better than the dream world he went back to whenever he left the mortal world. The dream world...frightened him. Terrified him, actually. It held all of his fears, and a loneliness so great that he could not bear it, would seek sleep there to return here...only to be sent back there, to wake with tears in his eyes. Never mind that there he could run, could jump, could be free...he was far more caged there than he ever would be here. The days, he did not count them any more; once they numbered in the tens, then more...and he simply lost count. He would wake, walk, sleep, wake, suffer, sleep...it was an endless, hateful cycle.

But this time, he felt more alert, more totally there than before...and judging by the way his wrists and ankles were bound down to the bed, they had anticipated that.

Never mind that he was as weak as a lamb, and worn thin with pain. The pain that was, in fact, spreading out from the healing scar upon his chest. But he welcomed the pain, reveled in it, for it meant life, and it meant that the death in Asgard was nothing. If only the same could be said for his mother...He closed his eyes as a hot tear slipped down, and he tried to quiet the howling grief. /Mother, my dear mother...I am such a fool.../ He knew she could no longer answer him, but it was a measure of her legacy that he felt a little comfort anyway. Whatever else he had been, all those long years ago to her when Odin had brought him back, an infant spoil of a war that massacred so many, he had been her son. He knew that now.

And there was a nurse coming; the soft pad of her footsteps, the scent of the lotion on her hands, and the quiet breathing brought him back into focus. She would see that he had been crying again; and if she was the same as the one a few weeks before, she would not comment on it. He did admire her professionalism; he'd heard her talking, low and soft, and his heart clenched painfully when she admitted that he'd been the cause of her fiance's death, courtesy of a Chitauri. /I was such a fool.../ He could speak, and had to the agents who'd come with Fury, his lies picked apart and trampled under their shiny black shoes, but to speak to this woman, when he'd done her such a wrong...

His eyes opened when she lightly touched the needle in his arm, her own eyes cool and expression nothing more than simple interest.

"You are going to be bathed today. The doctors are finished with their...examinations." There was a hint of distaste in her tone, and he wet his lips, nodding. His voice was halting, labored.

"I...thank..you. I..I am...sorry...for..."

"For what?"

"For...New..York." He whispered, swallowing as her eyes widened, but he plowed on. He had to keep going now, there was no stopping the words, the sorrow.

"I...was...a fool...a jealous fool...I brought harm...to so...so many...all...because...I forgot...myself...my place...I harmed innocents...harmed a world...and I deserve this." Her eyes were quiet, appraising, and he closed his eyes, the hot sting of tears familiar.

"Y'know, Director Fury warned me that you'd try and talk to me." Her voice was as quiet as his, and he swallowed, cracking an eye open as her weight settled near his right knee. "Try and convince me. That you were sorry. He called you a lot of names, most notably a liar. And a cheat. And you know, he wasn't wrong...about the first part." She turned to face him, eyes shimmering with tears also, and he swallowed back his reply, caught in her honesty. "And I hate you. I hate you so much. But you've never once lied to the agents, to the Director, since you came back here. And I don't believe you're lying to me now. I could do...so much to you. I could smother you with a pillow, overdose you on drugs. I could even do something horrible, like inject a cleaning solution into your veins." He gulped at that, eyes going round, and she laughed weakly.

"I could kill you. And let's be honest here; I'd get a reward. I know that. But I'm going to make sure you're clean, and comfortable, and sufficiently painless. Because your big brother has been here every day since you were brought in, pleading with SHIELD and the World Council to give you a chance to rehabilitate. He accepted that you'd be opened up, examined; that we could do whatever we wanted to you. The crux has been that after it's all said and done, you'll be allowed to heal. To try your hand at a new life. You have no magic any longer. Asgard and Midgard both have taken care of that. But you've been given the best care possible, and protected from, quite frankly, some pretty bad people. And Director Fury himself told me I could say all this to you. Or I could tell you to go to hell. It was my choice." She was quiet for a moment, studying his slack-jawed surprise, and nodded.

"I chose to trust that you've changed. That you're going to keep changing. But you've got a long way to go; they tore you open pretty thoroughly, and while they put you back together pretty well, you're still going to have to heal the hard way. So, it's bath time; there will be three orderlies helping, and..."

"May...I have...my brother?" She blinked, caught unawares, and Loki gulped again. "P-please?" He whispered, suddenly terrified of what he was asking, of the repercussions..what...what if one of the things in the stipulations was that Thor wasn't to see him? At all?

"Let me ask the head doctor." She replied simply, and slipped off his bed and out of the room, leaving him to worry at the idea like a dog with a bone. It felt like hours before they returned; it probably wasn't, but it was long enough that he was in a tremendous amount of pain, his breathing short and labored, and he didn't even notice his brother's presence until a massive hand laid over his brow, so familiar in the scent of leather and metal that he might have cried...and judging by his brother's quiet sigh, he began to.

"My brother, forgive me the delay...The Director was most annoyed."

"It...is...alright...please...may...I...have...a.. .little more...medicine?" He breathed out, eyes glassy as he tried to focus in on those familiar blue eyes.

"Nurse, you may administer the pain medication." Came a smooth, gentle voice, one of a man whom he faintly recognized, but how...then the horrible, horrible pain was gone, and he could relax with a soft groan, eyes moving from Thor to the nurse, to...his hair was grayer, eyes sardonic, and Loki felt the blood drain from his face.

"Doctor...Banner."

"Loki. You're lucky I was visiting today; threatening a Hulk-Thor knockout fight like the one on the carrier was the only way we were able to get you your brother. Whom I presume you're claiming now." Banner crossed his arms, looking far more comfortable in his own skin than he had back on that carrier, one eyebrow lifted.

"I...am. Thank you, Doctor." He replied, nodding just a little utterly flummoxed.

"Thank me after your clean-up. Thor, think you can handle him without more than myself and the nurse? I'd rather not squeeze a half-dozen people in that room."

"Most certainly, Bruce. Brother, you are mostly nude already; will you be alright with this arrangement." Loki nodded, and sighed in relief as the restraints came off. Banner noted that, and started massaging feeling back into his feet.

"Have you been able to feel your hands and feet."

"Not...well. The numbness...comes, and goes." He murmured, leaning heavily into Thor as his brother sat him up, slow, gentle. This kindness...this was not the Thor he'd known as a man. This was the Thor he'd known as a child, when Loki would get so sick in the heat (now he knew why), when things were at their worst...he laid his head on that enormous chest and just let his older brother take care of him. He was beyond shame now; wobbling naked to a sterile rest room, his body aching and bones too big for his skin, he had no more interest in anything but the steaming bath and the plastic skin of drugs bobbling on its metal pole. As Thor simply lifted him into the tub, he melted into the water, completely boneless. "...this. I...have missed this." He groaned faintly, the hot water a heaven. It eased his pain, his aches, everything...and Thor was quiet, holding his head gently.

"...Actually, nurse, how about we take a break outside? I think Thor's got this, and Loki certainly isn't going anywhere fast." Loki could have blessed the man, and as they left the room, he raised a shaky, trembling hand to Thor's arm, ignoring the brilliant scar down his front. Thor, however was staring at it, remorse in his eyes.

"What has been done to you, brother?"

"...You know the...answer, Thor." And he did; they both did.

"Can you ever forgive me? For what I've done?" Loki was quiet, silent, long enough that Thor bent his head, hot tears hitting his brother's forehead, his hair...and Loki laughed, soft, weak, and lost.

"You've forgiven me...all that I've made...your world and you suffer. This...This is the punishment...I earned. There is nothing...that...needs forgiven. Only...how...how can you...love me...still, when I...hurt so many?" It was Thor's turn to be quiet, then, and long moments stretched into an hour, and Loki washed himself slowly, painfully, thankful to see the grime disappearing into hot soap and water. Water wasn't an element he'd much cared for...but now...it was a balm, soothing away the doubts now curdling in his stomach. At long last, Thor spoke, his voice so soft that Loki paused to hear it.

"...I love you as my brother, as my partner, as one of the truest friends I could ever have. I have loved you from the moment you became my brother, when we were both babes in our mother's arms. When we were children, were youths, were men...I have loved you through all of that. And when you first fell, to be tortured and broken and lost...I told myself I hated you, that you were nothing. I wept every night, knowing how wrong that was. Because you, Loki...you have ever been the man I longed to be. Even at your worst, your most spiteful, I thought of little more than being like you. I might have acted as our father had...but you, Loki, you were ever my true peer. Even now, even as hurt and battered as you are...you are more a man than I can ever be. Because you have suffered, have lost, have lived...and I...I have simply been a brash fool. You deserve the throne, not I." Loki had turned during the narrative, eyes wide, lost, and Thor matched him, tears spilling from those blue, blue eyes. A sky turned stormy...Loki reached for him, his own eyes brimming.

"...My brother."


	3. Chapter 3

He woke once more in the dream world, and for a moment, Loki wanted to scream. The drugs he was on now...they should have faded! Should have gotten out of his system...but no, here he was, in his hollow of a camp. He'd stayed near the forest, especially with his consciousness returning, and had built and fortified a camp, complete with an actual hearth, a lean-to, and a small store of food. For some reason, if he didn't eat here, he'd wake sicker than before in the real world, and so he ate his imaginary venison and drank the rain and snow that came down on his camp, and slept his way back to the waking world. He was growing healthier, healing, but it was such a slow process; the doctors had been roundly tossed out by Banner and an associate of the Avengers, a Doctor Henry McCoy, and he'd been moved to the Tower proper.

Still under heavy guard; Stark's army of suits monitored all of his movements, and protected him at the same time. Because he did have enemies now, just as powerful in their own right as the Chitauri; shadowy men who wanted his head, his life on a platter, perhaps as a means to break the God of Thunder. Or his father...Odin had been sending Muninn and Huginn to him with letters, slowly rebuilding the shattered bond between them. It would take time...well. He had far more years than any human.

Even without his magics, he had all that time...and now, he could understand the fleeting loss of days, the short span of an hour. He could feel the time passing like a river's flow...and he wasn't keeping up with it. And now, he was back here. To use a phrase learnt from one of the agents who visited on Fury's orders...

Dammit.

He sighed and ran a hand through his newly shorn hair; changes in his appearance carried over here and he was no longer the shaggy, unshaven god he had been. Thor had ceded to his plea for a trim, and managed to allow Loki a good hour with a pair of scissors, with which he managed to take off a good arm-length of hair and trim the sides. The tips curled a little, and he felt...lighter. Certainly, he felt less scruffy. With a grunt, he picked himself up and surveyed the camp; there was no dust here, and the rains had come through and only leaked a little into his supply of food, so he simply cut up the drenched jerky and decided to go fishing. There, at least, he could think, and he had all the gear now to do it. There was a river to the south of his camp, and he headed down to its wide mouth, the fishing pole he'd made bobbing along behind him.

As he found a nice rock to settle on and cast his line, he thought back over the last few weeks. He'd been in Midgard, all told, nearly four months now, according to Thor; the first one had been dedicated both to the research by the SHIELD doctors and his own initial healing. Reeling it in, casting it back out, he went over the following three months of treatment at the hands of McCoy and Banner. McCoy was big, blue, and quite hairy; unsurprisingly, he was to subdue Loki should the prince choose to make a stand and fight. And Loki had not forgotten what had happened at the hands of the Hulk; McCoy had claws, and he was not interested in being sliced up for a fashion statement. Besides...he rather liked Hank. After the surprise of meeting a large blue Beast, Loki had struck up a rather cordial friendship with the good doctor, one that Thor and Banner both approved of. And as he recast yet again, not even really focusing on the fish, Loki smiled a little bit to himself. It was...strange to make friends. To have a spirited debate, and go away laughing.

He understood now why Thor loved the Avengers so. As dusk settled over him, he glanced up at the mismatched stars, wondering when they'd change...if they ever would. This place was becoming a second home, so different from the little room he was imprisoned within...it was spring coming here, and he finally pulled his line up, trudging back to his camp. The winds blew milder here, softer and sweeter, and he felt his soul lift, though he knew they were no more real than the food he ate, nor the ground he walked upon. But senses were made to deceive the mind, and for a long moment, he let himself be lied to, let the untruth float in the air. Because it at least was better than the smell of antiseptic and metal, of bleach and fear and the underlying taint of death...

A log in the fire split, loud and terrible and echoing, startling him out of his daze, and with a huff of a laugh, he shook his head free of the cobwebs and poked the log back into the center, marveling at the white hot glow and the soft piles of ash. He'd cleared a rather large space around it; even if he'd had his magics, he would have done so, for fire was the element least stable, most likely to flare into deadly life...and he had grown to at least love the open beauty of the plain, and the dark majesty of the forest, for all they annoyed him. He had no taste for destruction any longer; nightmares of New York still filled his mind when he was not in this place of dreams, and he regretted every fallen building, every human harmed. He would take it all back in a moment if he had the power to...But he could not, and he had to live with that. The remorse was almost enough to smother him at times...He sat on his log seat and stared into the fire, his heart unsettled.

Looking back over the actions of his most recent past, he was appalled at how petty and childish he'd been, how desperate for a love that had already been there, that had already been his, and how /blind/. How absolutely blinded by jealousy and desire. Small wonder the Chitauri and their leader had used him, broken him, twisted him...he'd started the process himself. He could have hated himself even more for that, but...he'd spent a great deal of time with Henry and Banner and Thor, and he was beginning to accept that he was, perhaps, a victim as well. Oh yes, he was certainly responsible for the plans with the Tesseract and the deaths of so many...but he had been hurt just as badly as any mortal. Perhaps worse, for he would live with the scars for so much longer than they. But that did not make him any better, or any worse off than they; Banner had been quite clear on that.

Something in that man had changed, and Loki could not help but admire it; truly, Banner...Bruce was a man of great power, and greater responsibility, and Loki found himself drawing many a parallel between his own actions and that of the quiet man with the green glimmer in his eye. Both were responsible for much destruction; both were hunted, both were badly hurt inside. But Bruce had risen above that, all of that, his heart set on helping people in any way he could. And Loki...Loki had taken shameful advantage of that, directly causing the injuries of far too many agents and near destruction of SHIELD's helicarrier. He had faltered where Bruce had stood strong, and...that hurt, just a little. He knew it shouldn't; that he had no right to feel hurt, but all the same, he did. Because Bruce had not had much love in his life, and Loki...had had a great deal. The soul-baring on behalf of that man had left Loki feeling quite small, for Bruce had been abused, been hated and ignored and near-destroyed...

And what had he done? He'd thrown himself into learning, into helping, into protecting and healing. He had made himself into a man far greater than his father.

And Loki had simply been a petty, spoiled child. It was hard, looking in the mirror, and seeing all the flaws, all the ugly choices he'd made...seeing the Loki the world feared, not the Loki his brother loved so dearly. And Thor...he ducked his head, eyes closing against the warmth of his fire. Thor had been there through all of it, sacrificing much time with his lady and his friends to help a brother who did not deserve that aid. And Thor had been nothing but supportive, making him smile, making him laugh...Loki felt a tear slide down his cheek. "Oh, my brother...I do not deserve you." He whispered, brushing it away. With a sigh, he pulled out his sleeping roll of deerskin and wrapped himself up. There was enough introspection for one night alone; he sought sleep now, fighting the ache of loneliness...

* * *

-beepbeepbeep!-

Loki groaned a little as one eye cracked open, and he reached for the small alarm clock Thor had brought him, turning off the blaring alarm before rolling back over. He really did just want to go to sleep, but with that last night in his dreams...well...He sighed and sat up, rubbing his neck as he peered around the room. As always, an Iron Man suit stood in the corner, arms crossed and eye-slits staring at him. He waved, knowing Stark was likely watching(and if not him, Rogers certainly was), and stretched with a wince, pulling his body out of the bed. Thor would not be down today; he'd made plans with the Lady Jane, and loathe as Loki was to be alone again, he could not keep a smile back at how eager his brother was. If she made him so happy, then Loki would not stand in her way, especially after he'd done so once before. No, he would simply read, and perhaps Hank or Bruce would join him later; if nothing else, he could ask the artificial intelligence named JARVIS for aid in a motion picture choice, for the computer was cordial, if aloof.

And he had to admit, in spite of some of the more wildly inaccurate war pictures, most of what Midgard considered to be easy entertainment was, indeed, rather entertaining. He was rather fond of a few titles, namely the science fiction genre, for while some were adorably wrong, others were rather well done indeed, and far ahead of their time. Even the sillier ones tended to appeal to him, and he had spent many an hour so far enjoying the story lines, either alone or with his brother and the doctors. And they gave him insight on humans themselves; he was rather more acquainted with Midgard than Thor, but there again, he had not spent much time with the humans themselves. So these 'movies' were an excellent way to view some of those interactions, and learn about the race he was surrounded by. Though he was still mildly confused by Director Fury's coloring; he had not realized that there were more such as Heimdall in this world, and just as fierce.

At the silent selection on the hologram screen, he chose a short children's tale, something for background noise as he puzzled out this Midgardian way of writing; alas, Allspeak did not couple with fluency in the written word. And he was woefully behind.

"Subtitles, please, Jarvis." There wasn't an answer back, but he rarely got one; not unless it required it. He did not mind; the less he had to do with Stark, probably the better. He did not believe the man was happy that their first true villian slept in his Tower, no matter the precautions taken. And were it not for Thor, Loki would have rathered SHIELD. Not that he did not admire the genius, but...the man was insufferably arrogant. To the point of almost, but not quite, endangering his team. He'd seen some of the arguments on the press releases after the battles, between Iron Man and the Captain, and they were...heated, to put it politely. He sighed a little and started in on his lessoning for the day, the movie a delightful white noise...when his door slid open, and a tall figure stalked into the room. He glanced up, a welcome on his lips, and felt his heart stop at the man's face.

/No...it cannot be.../

"Loki. I'm Agent Phil Coulson. I believe we've met."


End file.
